| Song | The Disillusionist |
| Artist | The Church |
| Album | Priest = Aura |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Daugherty, Kilbey, Koppes ... | |
| In autumn he comes to this town | |
| When the peoples guard is down | |
| On a day like today | |
| Overcast and gray | |
| Bells were all ringing | |
| The birds stopped their singing | |
| The wind caught in the trees | |
| Screaming to be free | |
| He alights from the platform | |
| In his usual uniform | |
| His skin looks like he slept in it | |
| Or had something rotten kept in it | |
| And snakes stir in the thistles | |
| Back of cats neck bristles | |
| 'round vicious lips the fur is stained | |
| The disillusionist is back again | |
| They say that he's famous from the waist down | |
| But the top half of his body is a corpse | |
| His gold won't buy him sleep | |
| His poverty runs so deep | |
| In winter he cracks, in summer he warps | |
| Hang around the backstage door | |
| But he knows what you're waiting for | |
| You rub yourself against his fame | |
| Already ready to bear the blame | |
| He asks you "did you like my show?" | |
| As if he really wants to know | |
| Then doesn't wait for your reply | |
| He just pulls you back inside | |
| You've started feeling dizzy | |
| It isn't you or is he | |
| Persuade you mentally | |
| Undress you incidentally | |
| Down the swaying corridor | |
| People you feel sorry for | |
| But when he puts the gaze on you | |
| You're amazed at what you'll let him do | |
| He can turn wine into water | |
| Mother against daughter | |
| Juggles busy deadlines | |
| Gets himself off headlines | |
| Surrounded by his minions | |
| Who never have opinions | |
| Performing little tricks for you | |
| Puts it in a fix for you | |
| Smashes your watch with a hammer | |
| Caresses you with camera | |
| And says the magic words | |
| That nobody's ever heard | |
| Now the slur is fading | |
| Reality all-pervading | |
| It only makes you want him more | |
| It only makes you fawn him more | |
| And he does the indian rope trick | |
| The one that makes you seasick | |
| And he keeps on filling up your cup | |
| But you keep on filling up | |
| And some of it's done with mirrors | |
| And some of it's done with scissors | |
| And some of it's done with cables | |
| And his hands under the table | |
| It doesn't matter you want to believe | |
| It doesn't matter if you have to leave | |
| You won't escape his orbit | |
| And the things that you must forfeit | |
| And the audience seems familiar | |
| Some of them in particular | |
| Bet you they are his plants | |
| When he plays the game of chance | |
| He reads the minds of jilted girls | |
| And the story really unfurls | |
| Cast a fortune for the man in the suit | |
| Who's suffering is very acute | |
| There's a rabbit in his hat | |
| But i thought i smelled a rat |
| zuo ci : Daugherty, Kilbey, Koppes ... | |
| In autumn he comes to this town | |
| When the peoples guard is down | |
| On a day like today | |
| Overcast and gray | |
| Bells were all ringing | |
| The birds stopped their singing | |
| The wind caught in the trees | |
| Screaming to be free | |
| He alights from the platform | |
| In his usual uniform | |
| His skin looks like he slept in it | |
| Or had something rotten kept in it | |
| And snakes stir in the thistles | |
| Back of cats neck bristles | |
| ' round vicious lips the fur is stained | |
| The disillusionist is back again | |
| They say that he' s famous from the waist down | |
| But the top half of his body is a corpse | |
| His gold won' t buy him sleep | |
| His poverty runs so deep | |
| In winter he cracks, in summer he warps | |
| Hang around the backstage door | |
| But he knows what you' re waiting for | |
| You rub yourself against his fame | |
| Already ready to bear the blame | |
| He asks you " did you like my show?" | |
| As if he really wants to know | |
| Then doesn' t wait for your reply | |
| He just pulls you back inside | |
| You' ve started feeling dizzy | |
| It isn' t you or is he | |
| Persuade you mentally | |
| Undress you incidentally | |
| Down the swaying corridor | |
| People you feel sorry for | |
| But when he puts the gaze on you | |
| You' re amazed at what you' ll let him do | |
| He can turn wine into water | |
| Mother against daughter | |
| Juggles busy deadlines | |
| Gets himself off headlines | |
| Surrounded by his minions | |
| Who never have opinions | |
| Performing little tricks for you | |
| Puts it in a fix for you | |
| Smashes your watch with a hammer | |
| Caresses you with camera | |
| And says the magic words | |
| That nobody' s ever heard | |
| Now the slur is fading | |
| Reality allpervading | |
| It only makes you want him more | |
| It only makes you fawn him more | |
| And he does the indian rope trick | |
| The one that makes you seasick | |
| And he keeps on filling up your cup | |
| But you keep on filling up | |
| And some of it' s done with mirrors | |
| And some of it' s done with scissors | |
| And some of it' s done with cables | |
| And his hands under the table | |
| It doesn' t matter you want to believe | |
| It doesn' t matter if you have to leave | |
| You won' t escape his orbit | |
| And the things that you must forfeit | |
| And the audience seems familiar | |
| Some of them in particular | |
| Bet you they are his plants | |
| When he plays the game of chance | |
| He reads the minds of jilted girls | |
| And the story really unfurls | |
| Cast a fortune for the man in the suit | |
| Who' s suffering is very acute | |
| There' s a rabbit in his hat | |
| But i thought i smelled a rat |
| zuò cí : Daugherty, Kilbey, Koppes ... | |
| In autumn he comes to this town | |
| When the peoples guard is down | |
| On a day like today | |
| Overcast and gray | |
| Bells were all ringing | |
| The birds stopped their singing | |
| The wind caught in the trees | |
| Screaming to be free | |
| He alights from the platform | |
| In his usual uniform | |
| His skin looks like he slept in it | |
| Or had something rotten kept in it | |
| And snakes stir in the thistles | |
| Back of cats neck bristles | |
| ' round vicious lips the fur is stained | |
| The disillusionist is back again | |
| They say that he' s famous from the waist down | |
| But the top half of his body is a corpse | |
| His gold won' t buy him sleep | |
| His poverty runs so deep | |
| In winter he cracks, in summer he warps | |
| Hang around the backstage door | |
| But he knows what you' re waiting for | |
| You rub yourself against his fame | |
| Already ready to bear the blame | |
| He asks you " did you like my show?" | |
| As if he really wants to know | |
| Then doesn' t wait for your reply | |
| He just pulls you back inside | |
| You' ve started feeling dizzy | |
| It isn' t you or is he | |
| Persuade you mentally | |
| Undress you incidentally | |
| Down the swaying corridor | |
| People you feel sorry for | |
| But when he puts the gaze on you | |
| You' re amazed at what you' ll let him do | |
| He can turn wine into water | |
| Mother against daughter | |
| Juggles busy deadlines | |
| Gets himself off headlines | |
| Surrounded by his minions | |
| Who never have opinions | |
| Performing little tricks for you | |
| Puts it in a fix for you | |
| Smashes your watch with a hammer | |
| Caresses you with camera | |
| And says the magic words | |
| That nobody' s ever heard | |
| Now the slur is fading | |
| Reality allpervading | |
| It only makes you want him more | |
| It only makes you fawn him more | |
| And he does the indian rope trick | |
| The one that makes you seasick | |
| And he keeps on filling up your cup | |
| But you keep on filling up | |
| And some of it' s done with mirrors | |
| And some of it' s done with scissors | |
| And some of it' s done with cables | |
| And his hands under the table | |
| It doesn' t matter you want to believe | |
| It doesn' t matter if you have to leave | |
| You won' t escape his orbit | |
| And the things that you must forfeit | |
| And the audience seems familiar | |
| Some of them in particular | |
| Bet you they are his plants | |
| When he plays the game of chance | |
| He reads the minds of jilted girls | |
| And the story really unfurls | |
| Cast a fortune for the man in the suit | |
| Who' s suffering is very acute | |
| There' s a rabbit in his hat | |
| But i thought i smelled a rat |